Sleeping with the Enemy
by SanityIsNotIncluded
Summary: "It all started with the flicker of light. It always starts with a flicker of light. The lights brings curiosity." Estonia's viewpoint of his brother, Lithuania, and Russia during the Soviet Union. RussLiet/RussiaXLithuania


Hello everyone! I wanted to try a new story line. This is in Estonia's POV  
I own Nothing!. If I did, I would not be writing this. This would be totally canon.

* * *

It all started with a flick of light.

It always starts with a flickering of light. The light gets people curious. And curiosity brings out what we are searching for. I would say it was an innovation for our children and us, but it was also a curse. Curiosity leads to many praises and many wars. Many goods and many more negativity brought by absurdity. There were times in which my children influence me to the point that even I started questioning my relationship with my two brothers. Even to this day, I questioned it, and at times, I hoped that I would end up finding out the truth of my heritage is something other than my brother's blood, and then freak out, hating that my mind wondered into such uncharted territories.

The light came from my older brother's pillow. It was his because it was always the cleanest; free from the drool and snot from our youngest brother's sorrows and the stains of my constant sweating. Even when he came in late from being worked from before dawn until after midnight, my brother would walk into the room, drop onto his side of the king size bed we were forced to share, too tired to even snore on the right, nearest to the door. He was the first one up because he was the 'favorite' out of all of us. I slept in the middle, and the youngest one was on the left, up against the wall.

Instead of turning away, I allow this unnatural force to direct me towards grabbing the light, only to flinch and let it drop, the metallic bang too loud for the eerie silence of the mansion. I glanced at my finger, red seeping through the fresh cut before placing it in my mouth, my aqua eyes staring at the razor. It would be a while before worry about what my brother was doing with such a thing, and was more curious as to how did he get it _here_? _He_ was very paranoid about everything after the betrayal that forced _Him_ in the war. Nothing sharp or sharpened got passed the door when we 'moved in' to our new home; it was a wonder to see a small piece of metal like this. Perhaps _He_ wasn't so lenient about _His_ 'servants' after all.

There were a lot of people like us- some from Europe like my brothers and I, and some from Asia. Some were able to stay back at their house, but was cut off from any outside company, including _His _sisters and my brother's best friend. Others like my brother's and _His _former enemy, and us, stayed in _His_ house.

Carefully, I picked up the razor and scrutinize it one last time before placing it back underneath the pillow, resuming my cleaning.

My mind was focused around my brother's rebellion back then. There were times in which he would be stubborn towards _Him_, testing _Him_, and smiling, as _He_ gets annoyed to the point that if he was anyone else in this house, he would have been slapped across the room. Instead, _He_ would drag and lock him in _His_ room. My brother tends to forget that he is not as strong as he use to be. When I was younger, and the littlest was no more than a toddler going by our children's aging standards, my brother was the strongest in Europe and was once called a Grand Duchy. He had servants living with him, too, but took care of them properly and with the upmost respect. If memories serve me correctly, _He_ appeared a couple of times, too, but much smaller than _He_ is now. I do not remember much, but I do know this; _He_ was a lot different than how _He_ is now.

My brother had been playing these games with _Him_ lately, and it was getting us in trouble. I was smart enough to leave before anything happens, but the youngest does not know when to say nothing and when to filter his words. There were times in which I had to leave him in the mercy of _His_ hands, for which the littlest once would come back shaking in fear that would no doubt contributed to his already given nightmares, but always comforted him at the end of the night.

My brother does at times, but never makes it his top priority.

Instead, he makes it worst on our behalf by messing with _Him_.

I knew what he was trying to do, too. I always knew, but I did not want to. He wanted us to be strong and fight for our freedom. That _He_ was not going to be the downfall of everything that we worked so hard for and the children that we have birthed. To stay loyal to our true symbols and that the one given, the hammer and sickle that _He_ gave to us was only temporary.

I knew that what he was trying to tell us; the other did not, and I made sure he didn't.

My brother wanted to influence us. I just wanted nature to take its course. It will end soon enough, as our children would fight for their rights. And us. It would be less stress on me if that were the case. I wanted my freedom just as much as the next guy, but I wanted to keep my people in tack and come out alive and as sane as possible through this traumatic time in my lifetime, with as little contact with _Him_ as possible.

* * *

My brother has another friend that lived across the ocean, one that _He_ hated. He hated _Him_, too, never really acknowledging that my brother was living in _His_ house now. I heard from my brother that the two of them were really good friends once upon a time. They were not as strong as the man on the island and the man that smelt like he was doused in wince over in the West, but were close enough to agree on almost everything. But then again, that was once upon a time.

The friend across the ocean annoyed _Him_, spreading 'lies' about equality and the freedom of his children. _He_ thought equality could only be obtained through the rules of government regulations towards classes, or lack of.

"Everyone will be with the same." _He_ would say, smiling a child-like smile that was a lie through my eyes. "There will be no need for the competing of anything. All of that evilness will be gone and everyone would happily live in the same class." _He_ was always a confusing one to me.

The fight between the two lasted for almost fifty years and was dubbed a War by our children. Out of all those years, the man across the sea refused to recognize my brother as one of _His_ servants, even when his children did. This boy across the sea, youthful and proud, probably spread the thought of being free to my brother, or at least rekindled his broken spirit. I thank him for that; even now, when everything is not what it seems, I thank him.

The tension between the boy across the sea and _Him_ was always tense whenever they two of them met for a meeting. Most of the time, _He_ would not allow my brother to get close to him. And as much as he wanted to protect him, the boy across the sea knew it would be better to say nothing. I ended up serving them.

The boy would smile at me and glare at _Him_. _He _would smile at me and then glare at him. It was a never-ending battle that I did not want to get into the middle of. But if I didn't, the younger one would, and I did not want to put any more pressure on him than need be.

Whenever the boy leaves, my brother would become more reckless, screaming about liberty and yelling in his native tongue, something we forbidden to do. We were in _His_ house, so we had to speak _His_ language. My brother would than get punish for disobeying him. And it was a never-ending cycle.

One day, the unthinkable happened.

The two of them were yelling at each other, my brother in his language, and _He_ in _His_. I always had trouble understanding my brother's language, but the youngest one could understand it much better than I could and translated, the vexation deep within my brother's jade and _His_ violet sapphires. _He_ did not raise his hand to strike, nor will _He_ ever outside the battlefield, slightly enjoying the extra attention he was getting from _His_ 'favorite' with a sadistic child-like smile. My brother's voice getting higher and higher, his hands balled up in fists shaking violently. The yelling brought a crowd from the other servants, some nervous and scared, others merely curious to the commotion. I covered the youngest eyes, wishing I could cover his ears as well, expecting the worst.

Then out of nowhere, _He_ staggered back and covered his mouth, a horrible cough echoing the tense environment. The anger that was in my brother's eyes disappeared instantly and was replaced with worry as he called _His_ name hesitantly. _He_ coughed yet again, his hand drenched in a mixture of bile and blood before collapsing on the face first in floor, still as a frozen statue.

Silence always filled the house whenever _He_ was arguing with a servant and it was usually a hit initiated by _Him_ that brought it to an end. But silence did not fill the end of this argument as my brother let out a bloodcurdling shrill, instantly by _His_ side.

The other servants and I did nothing. He was exactly like us, which meant he was hard to kill, but this was something we have never seen before. My brother turned him over to his back, checked his pulse, and screamed that he was not breathing. Some took the opportunity to run while he was hyperventilating; I was able to convince someone to take the youngest with them. But I stayed with my brother.

No pulse. No breathing. Is _He_ finally-

My brother ripped _His_ coat and shirt and started performing CPR.

"What are you doing?" Asked I. My brother did not respond and continued to do the medical treatment, each time more frantic than the other. His eyes would get wider and more diluted, his body quivering at every set, begging him to wake up.

"What are you doing?!" I asked again, more frantic than the last as realization finally hit me. Not wanting for him to succeed, I grabbed my brother's shoulders, only to be roughly shoved away, almost knocking down a couple of the vases _He_ kept around the house. He stared at me with wide, angry, frightened eyes, wondering why I was just standing there? Why was I not calling for help? Why was I not helping at all? But the confusion in my eyes answered it all for him, and my brother harshly and hastily pushed passed me, made a quick call requesting for help on the phone, then return back to restart his previous action in a flash.

I could see the others peeking through the door and hallways, looking at me with the same expression I gave to my brother. I wish I could answer them as to why, but even I do not know the answer myself.

* * *

_He_ was gone for a week in care. The house was much more festive during that week. We still did our task in the case that _He_ might return, but the chill of death no longer loomed over us. The youngest one began to smile again, something I have not seen him do in a long time. He had been getting along with the other nations as of lately, too, which is always a good thing. Hopefully, when we get out of this, we can create some relations with them. That was the only positive notion I had the entire fifty years we lived in that house.

However, my brother was not acting as joyful and serine as everyone else. He would not interact with anyone else, occasionally going upstairs to his room, then _His_ room, and then back down to do whatever he needed to do, and repeat the small cycle. He would talk on the phone in his native language in solitude, and I had to sneak some words for the youngest to explain to me. He told me he was speaking to the boy across the sea, but the look on his face told me there was more- more that he would not tell me, and I was satisfied with that. We are all loyal to each other, but our loyalty differed amongst us. His was much stronger to our brother than I was to him and we were to each other.

For the first three days, he did not sleep in the bed with us. In fact, we had no idea were he went. But he was the first to sleep and the first to wake up and start his chores. Looking back on it, he probably went in _His_ room. He was the only one allow in _His _room and study unless instructed otherwise when the rules were established. It was fine with the rest of us; no one would want to willingly go to _His_ room or study. To keep ourselves entertained, the other servants and I use to make horror stories about what _He_ done or _He_ had done in those room; the most common stories were about lonely nights and rotten corpses. If I had paid more attention, I would have had noticed the missing blade from his pillow in our room.

The fourth day, my brother left the house. We knew he was going to return. We were all stir crazy, so we left the house as well, but did not venture into the towns. We knew the condition of _His_ place; people walking through the streets and scent of pollution in the air, with police sirens and lines outside in subzero temperature waiting for their stipend of goods. We knew there would be trucks and trains with our people, our children, and even some _His_ people, rebelling, and being shipped to a wintery wasteland. To this day, I believe that place is _His _heart and not his lively capitol city.

We stayed outside and played in the winter beauty. My brother went into town, which confused us all since the shopping was done before _He_ collapsed. My brother had a lot more access and rights than the others, including myself. Despite how rebellious my brother is, _He_ tends to be more trusting towards him. I have seen him run from _Him_ with folders in his hands, his emerald eyes widening at the sight of whatever was on those documents, but never told us about it. At first, I thought it was because he did not want to worry us. It could have been facts about our children's rebellion, our children dying for their right to be free like we wanted them to be. Till this day, I still think that it is.

He left the fourth day and returned at the beginning of night. He said nothing to the others. He said nothing to me as I made dinner. We were supposing to together, but his hands kept shaking with unease, his emerald eyes lost in thought. I had to take over, and he went upstairs without another word.

The fifth day, the youngest asked him if he could accompany him into town. The realization on my brother's face brought a small smile to my face. As much as the youngest and I love him, he tends to neglect us in favor of his old best friend. I watched him bite his lips, noticing the conflict in his eyes. Then he bent down to the youngest height and kissed his forehead, rejected him sweetly and left for the day. He came back later- when he was sure everyone was asleep. I remember him walking into our room and felt him sitting on the bed for a while before he removed the glasses I have forgotten to take off and pushed my hair back. Then he reached over and tucked the youngest one further in before sitting a while longer. I was pretending to be asleep, but even I could tell he was staring at us, possibly conflicted between something I would never get nor understand. He left with a whispered 'I love you' that night.

On the sixth day, my brother actually spent time with us. It was small and brief, too fast for our taste, but perfect enough for the youngest. His smile was bright and his nervous shaking had stopped. For once, I could not see the pain of his children in his eyes, but him as a whole. That day was a good day.

It was night when curiosity caught my interest again. It caught the youngest one's first, then it caught mine. He accidentally knocked over some files and picked up a couple of signed treaties. He noticed that it belonged to the man in the Far East, someone that _He_ was very fond of lately. Figured that brother must of misplaced it, we though it would be the right thing to do an present it to him.

The moment he grabbed the paper, he balled it up and threw it to wall, hissing at it in an abhorrent fit. His emeralds were filled with an emotion that I would only later understood looking back. The youngest stood behind me and shook in fear, too young and too protected to see him rage in such a manner. I was frighten because it had been too long since I have seen him rage in such a manner. The others servants caught in the event were confused and frighten to see him rage in such a manner. He then stormed away to _His_ room. I heard no crashes, but a lot of cursing and screaming.

It was not until the late of night that I saw the door slightly open. The room was decorated with the colors of red and white- the colors of blood and snow. There were small potted sunflowers everywhere, as _He_ has some odd fascination with the plants. On _His _queen size bed, my brother was curled with his back towards the door, head between his legs and shirt off. I covered my mouth as I saw the scars on his back, never seeing them before in my lifetime. I knew he had scars from battles- everyone has them; including the littlest one obtaining his when he was a kid. The large one on his back was fresh and healing, bring me to the conclusion the _He_ was abusing him, for it would take more than his children dying to create scars like that. My brother was slightly shaking, and I heard a sniffle or two, finally at his breaking point. All I heard from him was I was too late over and over again. If I had paid attention a bit more, I would have noticed the blood on his freshly cut wounds near his wrist. I left him be, for people like us only want to be comforted by certain people. He left us to go mourn by his self; the person that he wanted was not here. I wondered if it was his old best friend, whom was forbidden to come near the house. But for the first time, I was upset at the fact that he could not trust us enough for his time of grief.

* * *

Three weeks after _He_ returned home, the man from the Far East visited. He was extravagant and exotic, and for once, I was able to understand why _He_ was interested. He had long black silk for hair and small brown almonds as eyes. His skin was as fair as the snow itself, red lips smiling against it to create a warm atmosphere that the snow around here would not provide. When he came over the ominous air of death was lifted. _He_ was nicer to us and cut down on the work, as he wanted to do the preparation himself, like a child cleaning his room to get praise. To Him, the man's smile was his prize of a job well done.

My brother, however, had the most appalled look on his face whenever the man arrived. His eyes were always frozen, locked onto him and following his every movement. _He _made my brother the personal servant to the two of them when the man arrives, so he was able to see every interaction between the two. _He_ seems to be oblivious towards my brother's behavior, but the man, whom face is as youthful as a female adolescent, is an ancient and has been here longer than any of us. He was able to read my brother's expression and learned not to care for it. He was always about politics, the only subject that would not allow him to connect to his people's feelings, setting borders and boundaries with _Him_. It was always politics and then he was gone.

Sometimes, _He_ would say a joke that would catch the man's interest. Sometime, _He_ would convince the man to stay a little while longer, sometimes nights, in which he would happily agrees to. Sometime, _He_ would take them upstairs for something more privet. Sometimes, we could hear the privet parts. And as always, my brother will storm away in an angry fit.

But of course, all good things must come to an end. The arguments started, and it seemed as if they would never end. The man from the Far East would constantly yell at him about their political boundaries, even bring the state of his children into the fight. With Him, it was only wanted the man's body, heart, and love. He wanted to stray away from politics and focus on them. Whenever He brought up the topic, the yelling would cease. A few minutes later, the man would storm out, only to repeat the process in a few days. Even still, He hoped that the two of them could work out their relationship. Eventually, the man from the Far East ended it.

That day, the silence was broken not only by His scream, but also by the crashing of the china my brother was about to carry upstairs to them. His emerald eyes were widening with fear and anger as he watched the man solemnly dragged his way downstairs, catching his eyes.

"… Why?" My brother asked, his voice getting harsher with each word. "Why would you do such a thing… you had it… You had him!"

The man from the Far East started at him when he reached the based of the steps, his brown eyes showing his old age and the wisdom that came along with it. I gulped, hidden behind my brother, completely intimidated more than the crashes and screams coming from Him on the upper floor. But even my brother was feeling dark and unprotecting, his eyes harden towards him. "You could have had it all! He will find you and he will-"

"He will not." The man responded. "I made sure of that. I told him something that he did not want to hear, but was very much needed. His memory needed to unlocked from his own restraint, and I am the only one who was able to do it."

"Why would you do such a thing!?" My brother hissed, making haste upstairs towards His room. I could only stare in wonder, and wonder how, this man from the Far East, was able to break him down. So I asked him what did he say.

The man from the Far East gave a small chuckle. "It was something that I have observe long ago, aru." He stated. "It was the truth about the feeling we directed towards each other. It was fake."

The man only returned to his house long after everyone and myself had escape from that house. The tension between them now is benign, a casual friendly smile here and there with a laugh or two. At first, I applauded the man for finally leaving Him, and I will never understand why he went back. Did he lie to me when he said that their feelings were false?

I still remember that night, my brother watching from across the room as He raided through his alcohol and drunk through his broke-up. He would slur and laugh and scream, never once crying despite the evidence on his face that told of the past. My brother just sat there and nodded, comforting him with a hug here and there and occasionally taking one with him. No other servant dare went near them, even when they were passed out in the living room couch leaning against each other.

"I was only consoling him in his time of need." My brother told me. "Sure, he might be like this, but everyone deserve companionship." I laughed in his face, not caring about the shocked look on his face. I do not believe that this man for a second needs, or very much deserve it. It was a miracle that the man from the Far East even tried at all. But I just continued to laugh at my brother, believing that at the very most, this man should just drop dead.

* * *

Eventually, my brother stopped coming to the room all together. It stared weeks after the brake up, the normal and somewhat predictable routine returning at last. My brother and _Him_ were arguing, _Him_ more enraged than I have ever seen against my brother. The other servants and I held our tongue, seeing how just the slightest of noise could direct him anger towards us, as he would never hit his 'favorite', my brother, no matter how thick the tension was.

My brother was looking for a fight, and I knew it. He continued to spit words and lies to _Him_, raising his voice when it was not needed, then raising it higher when _He_ grew agitated. However, _He_ calmed himself down, the shaking of his fist dying down until it was able to un-flex with minimal bone cracking. _He_ then told my brother that _He_ would want to see him in _His_ room at the late of night, before walking past a very stunned crowd.

When the youngest heard about the arrangement, he began to cry, afraid that _He_ might be able to break him after all these years. My brother just tried to consoled him with meaningless words, his voice and eyes uncaring, but uncertain about the night ahead. "It's going to be okay"; "everything is going to be fine"; "_He_ will not hurt me." I wanted to believe that they were all lies- why could they have not been lies?

That night, I heard muffled yells through the walls. _His_ room is at the end of the hall, and my brothers and I are the only ones that sleep on the same floor as _Him_. The youngest was a quick and deep sleeper due to being overworked, and I was glad for that. I, on the other hand, can tone voices and noises out, but it can take a while for me to sleep. I was envious of the youngest one, being able to sleep without a care at night while most of us are plagued awake by the thoughts of our children and their well beings.

Soon, I heard pounding against the walls, followed by small screams and moans. I shivered and toned them out, not wanting to hear how that man is hurting my brother. I closed my eyes and tried to sleep, preparing for the worst in the morning about my brother's condition.

I only saw the scars that I have missed during the days _He_ was out. My brother was up making breakfast and doing the chores like he always do, but with a slight noticeable limp. I asked if he was okay. He looked panicked at first, probably not expecting my concern, but replied that he was fine with a smile on his face, and I believed him. If one were to look at my brother and miss the cuts he hidden on his risk, it would be easy to believe that he was in fact okay; his brown hair was full in volume and his eyes and skin radiated a glow that embodies health. I said nothing else to him for the rest of the day.

* * *

The years continued and became longer. The routine we had before _His_ collapse returned without a single glance from everyone else. To me, it became too routine, and my curiosity took the best of me. I… It… wanted to see if there were any flaws in this life style. There was, but not the ones I was expecting.

First were the frequent looks my brother had between _Him _and the youngest. Sometime, the two will linger on more than necessary. Next was _Him_ staring at my brother. It was nothing new, since he was the 'favorite'. But there was a predatory look that _He _flaunts when _He_ thought the two of them were alone that made me shivered. The physical disclosers between the two were also different. _He_ would grab my brother's shoulders when talking to him and twist his head to face _Him_ when the two get into a quarrel, their breathing increased and their lips so close, the slightest touch could close the gap in between. It was always the anger in their voices and eyes that strayed me away from such disturbing thoughts. There were times my brother acted so rebellious that I thought _He_ was going to punch him right in front of everyone, but never did.

Eventually, this nightmare only became worst.

It was nearing the end of our 'stay' with _Him_ when the youngest decided to copy out older brother's rebellious streak. He decided to pour all the vodka that _He_ had stored up down the drain. Simple to most, but _He _was addicted to this stuff. My brother went frantic, trying to restock the shelves before _He_ returned home. But It was too late, as _He_ came back from a meeting with his boss, violet eyes bloodshot, platinum blonde hair everywhere, and his head heavy with the issue of his government, the first thing _He_ does is grab the vodka. _He_ called all three of us; my brother from not doing his chores, the youngest for messing with the alcohol, and me for not keeping an eye on him, and _He_ was furious.

_He_ is not an easy person to negotiate with when _He_ does not have _His_ vodka. _He_ is not an easy person to negotiate when _He_ has too much vodka. _He_ was not an easy person to negotiate with in the first place, this monster born in the frozen winter. I could not protect the youngest this time, frightened by _His_ rage, I could not avoid whatever strike _He_ was about to do, but our brother protected us both. He yelled at _Him_, more callous than any other times the youngest and I had ever seen when _He_ raised _His_ hands to hit us. _He_ yelled back with the same anger, and the youngest and I was able to create distance between the two.

My brother then did the unthinkable.

He hit _Him._

I remember the thunderous sound of the flesh hitting flesh. I remember the shock in _His_ violet eyes, holding _His_ cheek and staring at his angry 'favorite' servant. I remember the slight shiver _He _did when caught his emerald eyes, stuttering his name in _His_ language.

My brother then warned him to stay away from us. No more hitting and abuse; no more violence inflicted upon us. He would take everything for our mistakes and that was final. He did not even give _Him_ a chance to speak before he took the two of us and left. I thought he was crazy, but did nothing about it. I wanted to survive, and if my brother was willing to risk his life for us, then this was the best way.

The youngest did not like this.

I wanted to protect him, but in the end, he was influenced. As the days grew, his actions became more and more risky and outrageous. He still shivers when _He_ scolds him, but his blue eyes glistened with a satisfied smirk.

After a while, everything became secretive between my brother and Him, at least towards most of the servants in the house, especially towards me. It started when my brother took the youngest one into a secluded are. That was not an issue, as he would always call him to do a small task here and there. The issue arrived when _He_ follow there after. Curiosity and fret pushed pass my logic and I followed them, but kept hidden.

The three of them were together, my brother standing next to _Him_, and the youngest looking between both of them. My brother was talking in his native tongue, something I could not understand. My native tongue was closer to my friend and his family- the only one that were strong enough to defeat _Him_.

The youngest looked between the two in bewilderment before finally setting his blue eyes on _Him_. For once, _He_ looked nervous. For once, _He_ looked frightened. For once, _He_ looked vulnerable. This had to be a trick, I thought, any second now, the boy across the sea would appear and kill _Him_. Then the youngest said something in his tongue directed towards _Him_. Our brother looked at _Him_, then _He_ spoke something in our brother's tongue. It was broken, and his accent made it sound rougher than what it should. But whatever he said brought a look of consideration into the youngest face before he gave a weak, but heartfelt smile and hugged our brother.

Curiosity led me to something I was not suppose to see, as the youngest did not tell me about it, nor did my brother called me. This is around the time I grew tired of sitting around, as I felt that the time of waiting was not coming fast enough. I began to look at every document and listen to every conversation; anything that would get me to my freedom faster. The youngest continued to rebel like our brother in bold and violent moves, but I was more of a silent and deadly type.

Then _His_ sisters came in an unexpected visit. I have not seen his sisters in a long time. The last I remember of them was when my brother was called Grand Duchy, taking care of both of them while _He_ was away with another. The oldest one was very well endowed, representing fertility. She had blue eyes and a light blond, not looking like her brother except for the structure in her face. The youngest one was an exact replica of _Him_ in terms of features; platinum blond to an almost silver sheen with violet eyes. The beauty of those two were simply divine; the best that winter had to offer. My brother and _Him_ did the same thing as they did with my youngest, but this time, they spoke in _His_ language. Although we were not allowed to speak in our native tongue, I never took the time to learn _His_ language- it was a form of repression I refused to acknowledge.

My brother, however, spoke it fluently to the two, upsetting the younger sister and making _Him_ smile with pride. I would only guess that he told them the same thing he told the youngest, and what that was, I do not know. As the conversation continued, the oldest smiled and nodded, deeply into his words, while the younger grinned her teeth together, hands curled into fist. When he was done, she jumped to attack him. The action shocked a lot of us, except my brother, as he was expecting it. He was able to evade the strike and corner her against the wall before speaking to her in her native tongue. If I could not understand _His_ tongue, I was not going to understand hers.

Eventually, her anger faded away, and, reluctantly, accepted what he had to say. _His_ entire disposition spiked up, running to his sister and hugging them, which was something _He_ rarely does. The oldest one smiled and patted _His_ head, despite being taller than her, while the younger kept a sour look on her face, his envy targeted at my brother, which it has ever since _He_ deemed him the 'favorite'. The two of them left later on that night, and I never saw them again during the rest of my years with him, but _He_ had talk to them over the phone, worry evident in his tone of voice.

His rule over us and everyone else was coming to an end.

* * *

Out of everyone who left, it was surprising that my brother was the first to leave. I believe he did this because the youngest was getting quite comfortable; his rebellious attitude was direct more than just _Him _and attacking his us. I remember my brother putting him in check, a backhand slap across the face with firmed, narrowed eyes. It was if a switch was turned off and everything was back to normal, blue eyes blinking and his nervous shivering returning. Of course, he apologized, but he only stopped around my brother and I. The servants were unfortunate in receiving the negative energy that was directed towards us.

Needless to say, I should have been proud of him for making it out of this hell. This was the part I should have been aspired to repeat his action and rebel with our younger brother and reunite with our old friend that suffered through so much in the past few decades. The freedom of my land and the joy of my children should have been my number one priority. That should have been a proud moment for me. But it wasn't.

The day before my brother left, I watch him go into _His_ room, not closing the door properly like he always did. Taking advantage of the situation, I creped over, and tried to listen and see through the creak. It was late at night, so the two felt it was okay enough to talk in a language that I could understand, a blessing and a curse.

_He_ held his hand out, violet eyes staring at my brother with a stern, knowing face. My brother turned and held out his arms, reveling the many cut marks on skin over the scars that I have missed plenty of times when they were fresh. I covered my mouth to prevent the gasp, glaring at _Him_, but it went unnoticed. _His_ attention was completely at my brother.

"How long?" _He_ asked, his voice getting agitated. "How long have you been doing this since you promise to stop? Why did you not stop? Am I not making everything good for you?"

The final question jerked my brother's attention, his frightened eyes shaking with his head. "Do not ever say that!" he told _Him_. But _He_ caught a pause that I missed and urged him to be truthful.

So he did.

His children were unhappy, as he was beginning to hear their cries in his sleep. The Youngest was getting too rebellious, and he does not want him to get too cocky that when this was somehow over, as cockiness had turned this world into the nightmare that it had become. He felt him and I was getting distanced, and although inevitable, did not want to speed up the process by being her. My brother soon found himself lost for words, looking away as _He_ stared down at him with heartbroken violet eyes. _He_ urged him to go on, but _His_ voice quivered, already knowing what was coming along.

My brother announced his departure to _Him_. He said it was for his people. He said it was for the youngest and me to follow in his footstep, and possibly, unintentionally, everyone else as well. He said it was for a chance to live a better life style, as the one that hey was living in now was not suitable for everyone, especially _Him_. I expected _Him_ to erupt; as _His_ fists tighten so badly that red were dripping from the grip. My brother's eyes widened as he grabbed and opened _His_ hand, not caring that his blood was on his hands, then looked at _Him_ with the same pitiful look and said, "I'm sorry. I know you don't want to be alone, but I have to do this."

_He_ shook his head and dropped to _His_ knees, wrapping _His_ arms around my brother's waist. I felt and shivered at the cold aura that radiated from _Him_, but my brother kept strong, rubbing his hand through _His _silver like hair.

"Don't go", _He_ says. "I need you. I want you. _**I love you**_." Covering my mouth, I groaned as I shook my head, a feeling similar to a knife stabbing my back consuming my body and thoughts and the bile in my throat from his confession. I always knew that _He_ wanted my brother, but I still felt uncomfortable hearing it. That monster does not know how to love; he does not deserve love.

But my brother gave a small, weak smile, holding _His_ head up, green eyes meeting violet, and said-

"_**I love you, too."**_

I was shellshock, my eyes never taking away from the scene in front of me. I watched as my brother kissed _Him_ tenderly, I watched as _He_ stood up to take dominance, I watched as their clothes came off and my brother wrapping his arms around his neck, trying to tell myself that his was all a terrible dream as the started to do their sins and unethical things.

I remembered the envy in my brother's eyes when the man from the Far East arrived, the sudden concern when _He_ collapsed, the disappearance from our room followed by scream in which I thought was pain, the spoken languages- each other languages, and the sudden glances at each other when they thought they were alone.

Everything made sense now.

Eventually, I was able to move away, heading to my room and laid in my bed for the rest of the night and in the morning. I might have missed a couple of my chores, but even I know _He_ would not hit me to keep the promise to my brother. I didn't even move when the fighting started, inevitably calling everyone to watch. I heard all of the yelling, the smashing of the pots and vases and the final heart wrenching cry of that monster, begging for my brother to stay when the door slammed, but I was the only one in the house that did not see the fight.

The youngest ran into the room, and I had to move just so he could have a shoulder to cry on. The one that he idolized the most, his brother, was now gone without the two of us. But eventually, the youngest decided to laugh, his eyes widened with insanity, in which he claimed that he was going to follow in his footsteps, eventually getting out as well, but this time, with me. In all of this chaos, the youngest was still able to think and believe about hope of escaping this place, just like my brother wanted all along. But I could think about was how my own brother, this man I use to look up to, was sexing this monster and actually cared for _Him_ despite the horrible things he did to him- to all of us.

My brother was sleeping with the enemy. Willingly bending over for him without a care in the world. Not surprisingly to me, _that Man_, after _He_ was done getting _His_ emotion together, never tried to get my brother back, or at least not intentionally. When _He_ heard that his government sent troops to my brother's land, _He_ grabbed _His_ coat and ran out, trying to stop it. Only thirteen of my brother's children die. But even I do not want to me admit that if _He_ had gotten there later, it would have been a lot worst.

* * *

More than twenty years later, my brother, free and independent like the rest of us, is the only one whom would consider _Him_ for anything in the meeting. Europe was trying whatever it took to become united, but even they would not take _Him_ without a look of anger, disgust, distrust, and fear. I do not blame them- I had a first hand experience leaving with _Him_ for decades. I would not reference _Him_ to anything either.

My brother and his old friend do not talk much beside politics, and that could get messy when it comes to foreign relations. But it mostly ends up with _Him_ being the subject- always_ Him_!

My brother never told me about the two of them, and I doubt that he will ever. He understands my hatred towards _that Man_ and accepted it. But I will never accept them. I will never accept that _that Man_ that made me miserable could make my brother so happy. I will never accept the fact that my brother had to now think about choosing between _Him_ and the youngest and me. I will never accept the forgiveness he had for _Him_. I will never accept the smile _He_ puts on my brother's face.

I will never believe the apologies _He_ had for me and the rest of the servants forced in _His_ house. I will never believe the slight blush on _His _face when my brother tries to talk to _Him_, or flirt with _Him_ across the room in a meeting. I will never accept that _He_ and the boy across the sea became diplomatic friends. I will never believe that my brother and the man from the Far East set up boundaries and limitations for dealing with _Him_. I will never believe the smile my brother place upon _His_ face.

I hate _that Man_, and I will always hate that my brother will _continue to love HIM._

* * *

Review are always nice!  
-Surkura


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